


Service

by Kendrene



Series: Smut(not so)Cation 2018 [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Canon Compliant, Collars, F/F, Fingering, Master/Slave, Oral Sex, Sexual Roleplay, breath play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 05:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14846774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrene/pseuds/Kendrene
Summary: Lexa and Clarke both need a reprieve from the duty to their people, a place where one leads without being questioned and the other obeys without faltering. Clarke thinks she has the right idea concerning that.ORThe one where Clarke has a collar and leash made to entice Lexa into a bit of roleplay





	Service

**Author's Note:**

> Last month simply put sucked, but I'm back! Hopefully, you'll enjoy and I'll get to write more this month! As always kudos and comments are very welcome!
> 
> \- Dren

“Here it is, Wanheda.” Natasia placed a bundle on the counter’s polished surface. “As per your specifications.” 

The object that Clarke had commissioned was wrapped in a soft cloth, the same blue of her eyes. That had been Natasia’s idea when she had explained what she needed done. A touch that would be noticed and appreciated, the leathersmith had assured with a businesslike expression which had failed to completely hide the glint in her eyes. It had been amusement perhaps, but Natasia had been nothing if not courteous in the time Clarke had dealt with her, which wasn’t surprising. She would have to be, and discreet, to be successful in the line of work she’d chosen for herself.

“May I?” Clarke’s hands itched to reach out and unwrap the collar and leash, but if she had learned anything about the leathersmith in the short weeks she had frequented her workshop, was how proud she was of both her craft and her creations. Of course Clarke had seen the collar before, or rather its constituents. She and Natasia had picked the leather together - something pliant but that could resist some harsh tugging - and the artisan had called a silversmith over one day, so that they could discuss the best chain to go with the collar. Silver alone was not strong enough, but the man had reassured Clarke that he’d mix it with other metals to strengthen it. 

Clarke had seen the chainlinks too, and worn the collar for several fittings, but she was eager to see the end result. Still, out of gratitude and politeness, she would not handle it herself until Natasia told her that she could. 

Besides, waiting for permission was good training for what she had in mind.

“Please,” Natasia spread her hands with an inviting smile, “I just hope that you will be satisfied.” 

Clarke smiled back, letting her eyes roam around the workshop. Mundane objects like belts and horse reins hung on its walls, and alongside them she could see more…  _ peculiar _ things. Harnesses crafted to house glass or stone dildos, leather masks, whips and floggers and cat-o’-nines. Truth be told, some of the implements she spotted were so unlike anything she’d ever seen that Clarke was left wondering how the  _ actual hell _ one would even start to use them. 

There was one thing that all the leatherwork on display had in common; it was exquisite, both in quality and execution. Even the simplest objects exuded elegance and care, while the most elaborate were a different level of breathtaking. It wasn’t mere craftsmanship, although that was present too , of course. 

It was art. 

“I cannot see how I wouldn’t be, Natasia.” Clarke replied, the leathersmith’s smile growing wider at her praise. “You are famous well beyond the walls of Polis, and for good reason I would say.” 

They nodded to each other, and then she reached out, undoing the bundle with care. It was held closed by leather strings, which had been dyed a darker hue of blue than the cloth itself. All in all the effect was striking, and Clarke had to curb her enthusiasm, in order to avoid looking like a child on Christmas morning.

Once the collar was uncovered, however, she could not contain a gasp. 

The leather almost shone in the sunlight streaming in from the workshop’s window, and the chain, which had been carefully coiled around the collar, shimmered grey-blue. Put together, the collar and leash looked delicate yet strong, imbued with the promise of things to come. Exchanges that were to happen behind closed doors and out of sight, in a place where Heda’s harsh touch coaxing obscene, unspeakable sounds from deep within Clarke’s throat.

When the image of Lexa’s fist closing around the leash while she knelt collared at her feet flashed through her mind, Clarke’s cheeks burned and her breath hitched.

Natasia didn’t comment on what must be a very obvious blush, waiting patient and unruffled as she brought herself under control. 

“It’s… beautiful. Perfect.” Clarke had a hard time talking, her mouth completely dry. Other parts of her, on the other hand, were soaked. “Beautiful.” She was aware that she was repeating herself, but the leathersmith didn’t seem to mind. She busied herself with bundling the collar up again, allowing Clarke a few more moments to regain her balance before she had to venture out into the streets and back to the Tower. 

They didn’t talk price; that had been done on their first meeting after Clarke had decided she wanted Natasia’s services and it would be indelicate to bring the matter up again. In fact, Clarke had prepared the payment beforehand, and, as Natasia finished retying the leather strings around the bundle, she brought out a wooden box, placing it on one side of the counter. Inside were several vials and bags of dried herbs which would last the woman the whole winter. Clarke had prepared the remedies herself - with Nyko’s help and supervision. 

After the business part of their meeting was concluded, Natasia offered her tea, and some hard, nutty-tasting biscuits that were favored among the Grounders. Clarke and the leathersmith had become fast friends, and she ended up spending another hour at the shop, watching the other woman work as they traded tales and city gossip. 

It was time pleasantly spent and useful too; Natasia was often visited by merchants from the furthest tribes, and the men and women who travelled along the trading routes always brought updated news with them. News that Clarke was sure she reported back to Heda or one of her Generals; Lexa had plenty of spies, but there were remote places where even they couldn’t, or didn’t dare, go.  

By the time Clarke found her way back to the Tower, the day was well toward its end. She was happy about it; it meant that the Commander would be done with her duties soon and they would spend the evening together. Still, there was enough light left that she would have time to hide the collar within easy reach before Lexa came back to their rooms. 

Time enough to start plotting when she would use it.

///

Plot she did, but it took some time before Clarke could put her plan into motion.

Her chance came approximately a fortnight after her visit to Natasia’s shop, while Heda was busy receiving a delegation from the elusive Crimson Rock clan. Every tribe routinely sent caravans to Polis, to trade in the typical goods they produced and strengthen their ties to the Commander, but, while Crimson Rock was part of Lexa’s Coalition, they had been among the last ones to join, and begrudgingly at that.

Their territory bordered with Azgeda, and they had always had more than amicable relations with the Ice Nation. Their emissaries’ visits were a constant source of tension, as Crimson Rock was not favorably seen by most of the other clans, and Clarke knew that fact would be even truer this season.

A bitter dispute had broken out between Crimson Rock and Broadleaf regarding some contested pastures and fishing points. Rumor had it that a few huts had been burned on both sides, and a handful of warriors wounded during a handful of skirmishes. The start of winter was close enough that neither the Broadleaf nor the Crimson Rock leaders would be foolish enough to start an all-out war, but Clarke had heard the Tower guards whisper when they though nobody was around to listen – and those that reported back to her directly had confirmed – that the Crimson Rock emissaries intended to demand resolution by honor duel, should Heda fail to find an agreeable answer to the quarrel.

The possibility of bloodshed became more and more real as the days dragged by, and the atmosphere, both inside the Tower and out, grew heavy with tension.

Clarke steered clear of the Council meetings these days, for the most part, but everyone who wasn’t deaf could hear the shouting matches echoing down the Tower’s hallways. As Lexa’s consort, and bearing the title of Wanheda on top of that, it was generally felt that her ties to Heda could render her less objective on certain topics, and besides she had better things to do than listen to the Ambassadors circle jerk from sunup to sundown.

She usually sat in on things that didn’t involve Skaikru, but she’d avoided this particular hassle by claiming she knew too little of grounder customs as of yet, to be able to pass judgment. The Ambassadors had lauded her for her humility while knowing full well that she would still offer Lexa her advice in private.

Plus, with the cold season looming on the horizon, Clarke’s days were mostly spent in the Tower’s infirmary, helping Nyko and the rest of the healers to prepare for the inevitable influx of sick citizens that the first snows would bring.

Heda’s healers not only served the city’s populace, but also the denizens of neighboring villages too small to have a healer of their own. Oftentimes they travelled to outposts to treat the most serious cases, and, from what she had seen the year before this one, Clarke knew that people would start to bring their most gravely sick in before the cold and abundant snowfalls made it impossible to travel far.

The day she decided to don the collar and leash for her Heda had started badly for Clarke, with the loss of one such patient. The death of someone in her care was never easy to accept, but it became all the harder when it involved children. No amount of words from Nyko, nor stammered prayers to Gods she had started to embrace under Lexa’s guidance had served to quieten Clarke’s spirit, and she’d left the infirmary with tears in her eyes, seeking refuge in their rooms after her mentor had given her compassionate leave to do so.

Heda’s apartments were a floor above the one she currently found herself on, the distance not great at all on a regular day. But now her feet were dragging, the morning spent trying to save the young boy’s life weighing worse than a stone tied around her neck.

The palpable tension that filled the corridors didn’t help any; the few people she met hurried along with gazes trained to the floor. Most of them were alone like her, and the few who walked in small groups showed grim faces as they talked in hushed tones.

Clarke didn’t try to eavesdrop, but still she caught snatches of conversation. It appeared that the two feuding clans would not see reason, and that, despite Heda’s best efforts, the meetings would resolve with a duel. It was – she knew – the least favorable outcome; the clans would accept the blades’ response of course, but spilling blood, even during ritual, would strain their relations further. Division was something they could seldom afford, and never during the long, dark winters that descended over their lands.

Worry gnawed at Clarke and twisted her stomach into knots. The prospect of more death sickened her, and she could only imagine how displeased Lexa would be.

Quickening her pace, she made it to their rooms just before a few stray tears dampened her cheeks. She took one deep, calming breath, holding it in until the frantic beat of her heart slowed, then moved deeper into their apartments with every intention of bathing and changing clothes.

The ones she wore smelled too strongly of the herbs she and Nyko had used to try and bring the boy’s fever down. They  _ reeked _ of death.

She was halfway to the bathroom, having left a trail of discarded clothing in her wake when she paused, her eyes coming to rest on the locked trunk which was tucked out of the way under the desk she usually drew at. It was in there that she had hidden Natasia’s work of art, underneath a pile of sketchbooks and art supplies, and the thought of the collar brought a tentative smile to her lips.

It wasn’t much really, nor did it last long, but the tears receded, and Clarke could breathe easier after.

She toyed with the idea of the collar and leash as she bathed, the water hot enough to leave her skin a pleasing shade of pink after she was done. It would serve the both of them well, Clarke decided; she needed to stop thinking for a while, and Lexa could use the reminder that, no matter how unruly the clans could become, there was one person from whom she could get obedience in all things.

Her mind made up, Clarke finished drying off and re-entered their bedroom, ears straining to catch any sound of approaching footsteps from the halls outside. Despite the fact that the autumn sun had not yet started its descent towards dusk, the Tower around her felt eerily quiet, almost as if it was empty of all life save for Clarke herself. She had lived in Polis long enough to know that the city matched the moods of its ruler and that even the buildings themselves held their breath in the face of the Commander’s displeasure.

Confident that she’d have enough time to adequately prepare, Clarke selected a soft pillow from the pile they kept on their bed, positioning it in such a way that Lexa would be able to see her the moment she stepped inside their rooms.

She was aware that someone else – probably one of Lexa’s guard – may chance a look inside as well once Heda returned, but the thought of being seen like that, awaiting her mistress’ pleasure, sent a jolt of electricity and warmth down her spine.

Next, she dug the bundle containing the collar out of her trunk and undid its leather strips with reverence. She had not looked at what lay inside nor touched it since she’d brought it back from Natasia’s shop, but the collar was as supple as she remembered and the chain just as strong even though it resembled a piece of jewelry more than anything else.

Yet, in a way, that was an accurate descriptor, as the collar would end up adorning her neck as such.

With a mixture of fear and trepidation she donned the collar, snapping it shut around her neck, which turned out to be as easy as Natasia had promised. The clasp has been placed on the side of the collar and within comfortable reach of both the wearer and the one holding the leash.

Whether Lexa accepted to close her hands around the length of silver chain, remained something to be seen.

After, Clarke was left kneeling on the pillow she’d prepared, and figuratively swimming among the stormy sea of her own thoughts. Doubt lapped at her like water kissing shore, and she wondered if she’d made the right choice. 

She had thought that wearing the collar and presenting herself - a supplicant with downcast eyes and hands demurely folded on her lap - would be the hardest part, but it turned out that waiting was.

Time slowed to a crawl and then it stopped completely, making her feel as trapped as an insect ensconced in amber. When, finally, voices resounded in the corridor right outside the room, relief flooded through her veins, followed by another wave of apprehension. 

Clarke expected that Lexa would be the one to set eyes on her first, but, as the door was flung open, she realized that the Commander was facing toward the hallway, still engaged into conversation with another. 

One none other than Anya herself. 

The General peeked over Lexa’s shoulder, eyes scouring what she could see of the room beyond, more out of habit than anything else, her expression changing from long-suffering to shocked once her gaze came to rest on Clarke. 

Her dark eyes widened and her jaw dropped, but in the next instant she’d regained her composure, her face turning so still it could have been carved from stone. Her eyes, however, never left Clarke and shone, whether with mischief or approval she was not able to determine. 

Lexa was too caught up in her half-growled tirade to notice any of the changes overcoming Anya’s face, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she tried to contain her obvious anger. The air around her quivered with her rage, and, as Clarke imagined those same hands tugging at her leash, she felt herself grow wet. 

Just when she thought that the Commander was going to rant on her own doorstep for the rest of the day, Heda slammed the door shut in her General’s face and turned around sharply, to stalk inside their rooms. 

She was no more than three steps in when she noticed Clarke, and, as she did, she almost tripped over her own feet, her cheeks heating up with a sentiment much different from what had animated her only moments before. 

“Clarke?” 

Her voice was as strained as if she was the one wearing the collar. 

“Clarke, what is the meaning of this?”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on TUMBLR for more stories and exclusive content](https://kendrene.tumblr.com/)


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